Garden of Lies(31)

“What sort of eccentricity were you expecting me to admit to?” he asked.

She waved a hand in an airy manner, aware that she was starting to enjoy herself.

“There have been some rather bizarre speculations in the press,” she said. “I was inclined to dismiss them, of course, but when you mentioned that potential staff might be put off by your eccentricities, I did wonder precisely what you meant. Rest assured that vegetarianism was not the first thing that came to mind.”

He started to put on his spectacles. Then, very deliberately, he set them on the desk. For the first time there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Mrs. Kern, and tell me exactly what sort of eccentricities popped into your mind?” he said.

She had known that it would be a mistake to tease him about the vegetarianism. She did not know what had come over her. For whatever reason, making the small, lighthearted comment had been irresistible. But she should have heeded her intuition that had warned her that any conversation of a personal nature was a high-risk venture with this man.

She sat down on a chair and tweaked the folds of her skirts, aware that she was a bit flushed. “I think perhaps we should change the subject.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but I also read the press,” Slater said. “I believe there is some concern in certain quarters that I have a secret chamber here in my house and that I have forbidden the servants to enter it.”

“Oh, dear. You know about that nonsense, do you? I assure you I put no credence in the story.”

“Evidently there are some who are convinced that I lure unsuspecting females into my secret chamber and practice the odd exotic ritual upon their persons.”

“The definition of an exotic ritual is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?”

“Do you think so?” Slater asked.

“As far as I’m concerned, the necessity of wearing fashionable gowns that feel like a suit of armor and weigh approximately the same, with skirts so heavy and voluminous that they make the simple act of walking a difficult endeavor, is an exotic ritual. Yet ladies here in London do it every day.” Ursula paused for emphasis. “Including me.”

She felt quite daring, she realized. Perhaps even a bit reckless. Something about being alone with Slater had that effect on her.

Slater looked startled by her response for about two seconds and then he laughed his short, rusty laugh.

“It is good to know that you take such a worldly view of exotic rituals,” he said.

She opened her mouth, determined to use the opening to urge him back to safer ground but an ominous knock stopped her. Webster opened the door as though it was the entryway of a crypt, allowing Mrs. Webster to sweep in with the tray of tea things. She set the tray on the one table near Ursula’s chair and stood back.

“Shall I pour?” she asked with a hopeful air.

“No, thank you,” Slater said. “We can manage.”

Mrs. Webster did not bother to conceal her disappointment. “I’ll be off, then. Ring if you need me.”

“I’ll do that,” Slater said.

He waited until the door closed behind her and then he looked at Ursula. The brief moment of sensual amusement that had charged the interior of the library dissipated. She reached for the pot and filled two cups.

Slater came out from behind the desk and crossed the room to accept the cup and saucer she held out to him. He returned to the desk and stood in front of it.

“I’m aware that, in addition to the rather annoying speculation about exotic rituals carried out in a secret chamber, the press has also suggested that the experience on Fever Island may have affected my mind,” he said. “And, in truth, perhaps it did. It certainly changed me in ways that are difficult to explain.”

“That is hardly surprising,” she said.

She spoke quietly and calmly, trying to let him know that he was free to tell the story in his own way. She was a woman with secrets. She understood that if they were confided, they needed to be confided carefully.

“Torrence and I were friends.” Slater set the cup and saucer on the desk, the coffee untouched. “We had a mutual interest in antiquities. Early on we became intrigued by the legend of Fever Island. At some point the search for the island became an obsession for both of us. It took us two years of research before we finally got the first clue to the actual location of the damned place.”

He broke off, gathering his thoughts. Ursula waited, making no effort to hurry him along.

“The charts that I discovered were buried deep in an old sea captain’s journal and they were vague, to say the least,” he said. “Torrence was half afraid that they were the product of a deranged mind but he agreed to make an attempt to find the island. In the end the captain of the ship we chartered discovered the place more by accident and good luck than because of the charts.”

Slater went to stand at one of the windows. He looked out into the garden.

“From what we could tell, Fever Island was uninhabited,” he said. “Torrence and I found the entrance to an ancient temple and what appeared to be an endless maze of burial chambers and treasure rooms all carved into the base of a volcano. We called the complex the City of Tombs.” Slater paused and then shook his head slightly. “It was quite . . . astonishing.”

Ursula sat very still and watched his hard profile. She knew that it was the temple tombs of Fever Island that he saw now, not the fogbound garden.